When the Last Day Comes
by NeverLookBack756
Summary: After lifetimes of experience, Killian Jones knows everything there is to know about being a soulmate. He's loved the same beautiful woman since the beginning of his existence. When she stumbles into his library, Killian realizes his own soulmate doesn't remember him. Can he make her remember their love through stories of their past? (Rating may change)


Killian Jones knows exactly what it means to be a soulmate. It means being trapped in a cage called eternity, and then doomed to what is always a tragic demise.

On his end at least. He was never around to find out what happened to Emma. He supposes it's just fated to work out that way.

Rinse, repeat, and there you have it. His entire existence. One miserable lifetime after another.

Of course, being a soulmate isn't _all_ miserable. In fact, most of it is rather good. There are some days he forgets that the bad things even existed. Like he hadn't died hundreds of deaths before and woken up anew only seconds later. In many of his past lives, he hadn't remembered the versions of him that came before it. Ignorance is bliss, he remembers, and the knowledge he has now of every aching detail makes him almost wish he hasn't remembered it all.

Almost.

In the end, though, he would brave the plaguing pain of his past if it meant he could remember the face of the woman he loved the most.

Killian lets a book he's left on his nightstand glare at him until the tension builds so heavily in him that he finally reaches over to pull it onto his lap. Judging from fabric bound cover and the intricate, golden designs on the top, Killian can tell it's from his victorian days. Paging through it, he notices some of the pages are torn or missing, but even with the faded ink, he can still make out his own writing.

On the bookshelf across the room, he has saved a dozen more journals like this one. Each one is of a different structure and design, varying in length and age, but all tell his story. At the very least, they gave him someone to talk to. Killian imagines his oldest works are lost in the ground somewhere, probably even turned to dirt. Opening it to the first page, Killian begins to read aloud.

"She bore at me as if I were treasure, but I am not the one with hair of pure gold."

A few pages later, he finds her name, the same as it has always been.

"She calls herself Emma Swan."

For a moment, Killian allows himself to close his eyes and picture the shimmer of her green eyes when she looked at him. These days her name, along with a few more of her more prominent physical attributes, are the only things he can remember about her.

Maybe he doesn't love the fact that his life seems to be a predestined drama movie for the gods of the universe to laugh over, but Killian did love Emma when he knew her. Much of his heart tells him he still does. He can tell by the words in his books and the feelings lingering in his heart. That's why he spends each night memorizing his old journals, hoping the details will somehow come back to him.

They never do. What if he forgets Emma? It's times like these that he's glad he wrote down the details of their history on paper. After all, the journals are all he has left of her.

Killian wakes for work the next morning with her name on his lips. His instincts tell him there's someone beside him, curled against his back, but when he turns, he finds nothing but a clump of old quilts and empty space. The first thing he sees is his victorian journal on his nightstand, and he can't help but frown. If she's his soulmate, why haven't they found each other yet? It almost never takes this long.

When he arrives to his job at the library, Killian discovers Belle has already opened the door and turned on the lights. In his entire existence, Killian has worked as a government lawmaker, a naval lieutenant, a physician, and even spy once during the middle ages, but he likes his job in the library the most. The books offer an escape from the harsh reality he was born into.

"Well are you going to come in, or are you just going to stand there?" Belle calls from the corner of the room by a group of historical fiction novels. She pokes her head out so that it's the only part of her Killian can see, but the friendly affection she always greets him with is still noticeable from behind her round glasses.

"Simply admiring our fine work. These are shelves are rather pristine, I must say," he covers. The falter in her smile tells Killian that she's noticed something is bothering him. When she walks over to him, she's holding at least ten paperback books in her hand and gestures for him to relieve the load. He pulls most of them into his functioning hand and balances them with the prosthetic.

"You see the shelves every day, Killian. They don't change."

"Can't blame a man for wanting to enjoy the little things in life." Belle sets the books on the main desk and pauses to look at him. Killian can tell by the look on her face that she's trying to figure him out.

"No, but a man only stops to admire shelves if he's got nothing else to admire," she says carefully. She watches Killian shift uncomfortably on his feet under the sudden attention, an obvious clue that she's read him perfectly, just like one of her books.

"There you have it," Killian admits. "I'm a man whose life consists of plain shelves and dusty books. There are worse things in the world than spending time in the quiet of the library."

Belle looks like she's about to argue, but the door burst open, hitting the wall behind it with a harsh _clash._ Killian only notices her scarlet leather jacket and golden hair before she sputters out an anxious, "Are you guys open yet?"

All eight of the books Killian holds in his arms plummet onto the floor. _Impossible._

"Not for another two minutes," Belle says, peeking down at her watch. "We can be?"

" _No!_ No, I need to return a book before you open so it's not late," the blonde explains quickly. Storming into the room, the woman brushes past Killian - tossing him a strange glance as she passes him - and slams a picture book onto the counter. Killian can do nothing but stare at her from behind, feeling the color slowly draining from his face. All the details he had been worrying he was forgetting suddenly come rushing back in.

"Emma..." he breathes out, feeling his throat close with a raw emotion he hasn't felt in a lifetime.

"Do I know you?" she questions with raised eyebrows. Killian's chest feels like it's being crushed under a million rocks, and his legs falter. He's so focused on the woman before him that he doesn't notice Belle's questioning looks. His social instincts seem to kick into autopilot to allow his emotions a second to process.

"Your name tag," he notices with a strangled crack in his voice. He can still feel the shock on his cheeks, but does nothing to try to hide his surprise. "Belle will need your name to check your book in." The words come out slow and calculated, like he's forcing himself to remain composed.

"Right," Emma states. She turns back to Belle, who shrugs.

Killian slips behind some shelves to regain control of himself before he can really make an idiot of himself. For _years_ , he's had her face plastered in his mind. Every day, every hour he has repeated her name on his lips and pictured her face, trying to memorize her soft features that struck love and fear into his bones. Seeing her again is like being shocked with a strike of lightning and being revived to life. All the details he'd forgotten of her have come rushing back in one huge wave, almost knocking him off of his feet. He can _feel_ every time she gripped his hand, or trailed her nails down his arms and chest. His lips tingle with the memory of her kiss, sweet and warm like red velvet. Heat rises to his cheeks as he trails onto the memories of the times he took her in his bed and worshipped every creamy inch of her skin.

"What was that about?" Belle whispers from behind him. Killian flinches out of his reverie, noticing her face looking at him through the shelf.

"She looks like someone I used to know," he lies. Belle can see it in the way his eyebrows are furrowed together in a pain she hasn't seen on his face before, but decides not to push him.

When Belle walks away to assist someone else at the main desk, Killian turns to stare at Emma from around the edge of the shelf. She sits at the catalogue computer and appears to be searching for a book. If he wasn't so sure that he'd make a complete fool of himself, he would walk up and ask her if she needed any help.

It appears that making that offer would be a good idea as Emma clenches her fists in frustration and begins furiously typing away. Killian can do nothing but stare in awe of the woman across the room. It has been far too long since he's seen her, and out of all the reunions he has pictured in his head, this one hadn't crossed his mind. Finally she turns around, scanning the room for something. When her eyes fall onto Killian, his heart lurches.

"I'll ignore the fact that you've been standing there watching me if you can help me find something," she calls to him like she's trying to keep her volume in consideration for the library. Killian clears his throat and tries to remember his manners.

"Of course. How can I assist you, love?"

Emma frowns at the nickname, but points at her screen.

"I need a fairy tale," she states like it's a top secret mission that she's been trying to solve for half her life. Her voice is so familiar that it sends a warm tingle through his nerves. The shock from seeing her burst through the door has finally begun to subside, and he settles into her atmosphere. She may not remember him, but he remembers her, and this cold front she's putting up with is one he's dealt with plenty of times before. The familiarity is comforting.

"As luck would have it, this is a library, and we've got plenty of those," Killian answers with his amusement. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Emma swivels in her chair and crosses her arms. In the library lighting, brown and blue specks shimmer from beneath the emerald hue of her eyes.

"It's not for me. It's for my son, so it's gotta be..." she trails off, searching for the right word, "Special. He takes these things way too seriously."

Killian tries to keep the sharp cracking feeling from showing on his face. No wonder they hadn't reunited before. She has a _son._ With his luck, she's probably married and any remnants of hope that has risen up of being with her again are extinguished. In his mind, he suddenly remembers all those times he perished prematurely before they could have a future together. Perhaps, he muses grimly, it is fair that she leave him first this time.

"Does it matter the nature of fairy tale?" he asks, trying to focus. Emma shrugs.

"He's into things with happy endings, but he's pretty mature for his age. Nothing too juvenile."

That's how Killian ends up sitting across from her at an old wooden table. In between them on the table's surface rests at least twenty books, each open to a different page and story. She hasn't said much since they started scouring through the texts, and he finds the silence both refreshing and alarming.

"So, tell me how a man like you ends up working at a library," she chats. Killian looks up from his tale of _The Twelve Dancing Princesses_ and raises an eyebrow.

"A man like me?"

"Oh you know. Black leather, tattoos, probably a beer drinker." Her eyes are intrigued as she searches his. Under her gaze, Killian feels a bit self conscious and has to reminds himself that there's nothing of him she hasn't seen before.

"Rum, actually," he answers with a hint of shyness. "Let's just say I've tried out a lot of professions in my time and was looking for something far less...precarious." It seems like she wants to know just what he means by precarious, but holds it back her questions.

"And what about yourself? What do you do when you're not wreaking havoc in a public library?"

Emma laughs and flips the page of her book.

"Right now? Nothing. Just moved here a few days ago. I guess that explains why I'm looking for free entertainment for my kid. It's a good thing he likes books."

"Has anything piqued your interest yet?" Killian asks. After the words leave his lips, he wonders if he was talking about the books, or something else. Emma smiles at the underlying flirtation, probably aware that was unintentional, then shrugs absently.

"These books are good and all, but Henry has read all these stories a billion times. He could probably tell them better than anyone. I'm looking for something, oh I don't know, exciting? Different?"

Killian's mind reels, trying to think of any book in the library that fits her description. Sure, he's got shelves and shelves of exciting and different, but from all the lifetimes of learning how she communicates, he knows she's looking for something perfectly unique. What she's looking for is so specific, he wonders if he has anything like it at all. She can tell he's flustered, and offers, "Well, you're a librarian. Do you know any good stories off the top of your head?"

Rubbing his hands together, one prosthetic and one flesh, Killian nods.

"Aye, I am well acquainted with many stories."

Emma folds her fingers together and rests her chin on them.

"I'm all ears," she says.

Killian runs his tongue over his lips and closes his book shut. He knows exactly what story he wants to tell her, but warning signals are screaming for him to just keep his mouth shut. Momentary confidence brushes aside the admonition and he opens his mouth.

"This is the story of the Greek Artisan and the River Lady."

 _Kileon peeked left and right before leaning his head back through the window. He covered the clear opening with a cotton cloth, then swiveled around to the goddess before him. When his eyes landed on her, he extended his arms. She was in them in seconds nuzzling her face into his neck and breathing in the way he smelt like the sea. It had been days since they'd seen each other, but holding her was worth every bit of waiting._

" _Emma," he breathed out. Strands of her hair fluttered as he spoke the words, so he gripped the golden locks closer to his face. "My love, you are the most divine creature the gods have graced our land with."_

 _Kileon watched her bright smile widen. Overwhelmed with a fullness in her heart, Emma reached up her arms to pull him down for a kiss. It started out sweet, the kind that lingers with the sweet aftertaste of wine. She felt his only hand tugging gently at her hair and it was all she needed for her passion to roar to life. The sudden burst urged Kileon to swipe his tongue across her bottom lip, requesting entrance. Granting it almost immediately, Emma allowed herself to cherish the taste of him as he explored her thoroughly._

 _How much like an artist to study the curves and contours of her face and waist with his hands. Not many people were aware of his hidden hobby, and she prided herself in the knowledge of that particular secret._

" _The diplomatic matters to discuss at the council today was endless," he murmured as she broke away to pepper kisses on his neck. "I thought the verbal battling would never cease. Seeing you, my love, is like laying eyes on Aphrodite herself. You must certainly be some sort of goddess."_

 _Emma shushed him with a sultry stare and trailed her fingers down to the dip of his hipbones. With a groan, Kileon forced himself to catch her scouring hands before they could tear away his robe. Her eyes snapped up to his, dark with lust, yet warm with love._

" _I was promised a model for the afternoon. That part can come later," he promised, glancing down her hands. "Rest assured, I won't make you wait too long."_

"So she posed for him. What makes it a fairytale?" Emma asks carefully.

"The love, Swan, makes it a fairy tale," Killian answers. "He was one of the most important government leaders of their time. Many of his colleagues were completely unaware that he was capable of artistry. She was the only one that knew."

Killian bites back a frown as he realizes that the story has not sparked any sort of memory in her. He was sure that telling her of their first life together as soulmates would remind her of events she has clearly forgotten. To her, though, this is nothing more than a story.

"How did they meet?" Emma questions. Without sounding too reminiscent, Killian answers.

"He was sketching on papyrus by the river she was bathing in. Water lilies and flowers everywhere. Legends say she looked like a swan. Truly a gorgeous sight."

Without missing a beat, suspicion washes over her features, and she slurs "So he was stalking her." It isn't a question.

"Not stalking, love. They both were simply in the right place at the right time. After some brief conversation, their attraction began."

Silence sinks onto the table between them, feeling much like a barrier. Killian begins to feel suffocated under the situation, and though Emma looks a bit distressed herself, he knows it's for entirely different reasons.

"How does the story end?" she wonders to him. Killian leans back in his chair and tries not to let the memory hash up too many harsh memories.

"He died. Poisoned by a jealous man who wanted the Artisan's lover for himself," Killian says in a low voice. His fingers clench as his brain replays the details of the suffering in the last moments of his first life. The ending thoughts that had flashed through his mind was the woman with gold hair and a voice that could ease each and every one of his worries. He'd give the world to live with her, but could only pray with his dying breaths that he would see her again.

Here she is sitting before him, and it all feels just so much more different.

"And the River Lady?" Emma's voice is quiet and sad. Killian cannot help but feel a bit hopeful, like she's feeling the pain in a memory and not because the story was moving. Still, Killian had never lived long enough to see what happened to his love.

"I don't know," he answers finally. "I imagine she married someone else."

It kills him to even say it, and it's been _hundreds_ of years.

Emma looks disconcerted when she stands abruptly. An expression of horror spreads throughout her entire body, straightening her taut. Suddenly Killian fears that he's said the wrong thing, told the wrong story, pushed her too soon. It's like something in her has cracked. Emma seems to have realizes her sudden change in behavior, and tries to laugh.

"I can't tell that story to my ten-year-old," she jokes lamely. She jerks a little, almost about to run away - Killian has watched her run away thousands of times before, he's expects it at this point - so he gestures for her to wait. He sifts through their pile of hardcover fairy tales and pulls out a stitched covered book that looks a hundred years old. He hands her the book as if it is a peace offering.

"These are the original fairy tales written by the Brothers Grimm. It's the perfect amount of romance, happily-ever-afters, death, and blood for a growing lad. I'm sure it'll definitely be different than what he's used to," he explains gently.

Emma accepts the book with caution, murmurs a quick thank you, and scurries away. Belle checks out Emma's book at the front desk with a short glance at Killian. Watching Emma leave the library just about knocks the wind out of him, the disappointment too much for one person. He wonders if that's all he'll see of her, until he notices the black shiny screen of a cell phone left on the table where Emma was sitting.

Maybe this is the universe's way of helping him - they _are_ soulmates after all - and suddenly Killian feels confident that he'll see his Swan again in this lifetime.


End file.
